Raising a Nation
by Anneliza
Summary: England is worried about France. He hasn't heard from the nation in a long time so he goes to check on him but he never expected to find this.
1. Chapter 1

England knocked on the thick mahogany door to France's large, opulent manor; he hadn't heard from the other nation in a few weeks and was getting slightly worried. Normally he'd get half a dozen text messages a day and at least three calls a week but he had received none of that in so long he thought the other might be seriously injured or possibly already dead.

Stamping his numb feet in the snow in an attempt to get feeling back in them, he called out, "Francis!" in an annoyed tone. He had come all this way to check on him, the least he could do was let him in. When he didn't get an answer and knocked again. "Francis, open the door! I know you're in there!" He tried to keep a nervous tone out of his voice but was failing. Still no one answered and snowflakes started to fall around him, encouraging him to seek warmth and shelter. "Fine. I'm coming in." Grasping the knob, he found it turned easily so he let himself into the home which seemed strange; France always made sure to lock his doors.

Inside was eerily quiet and judging by the amount of dust on everything nothing seemed to have been touched in days, possibly even weeks. It was also nearly as cold indoors as it was outside the home and he found himself pulling his coat tighter around his body. The whole situation was starting to unsettle him, making him wish he had never come in the first place but he felt a strong need to keep looking for his fellow nation.

Once he finished examining the first floor, finding nothing that could point him in the right direction, he turned his attention to the second floor.

The second floor seemed as empty as the first until he headed toward the wing containing France's bedroom. A soft crying reached his ears, making him pause momentarily. Very rarely had he seen France cry so something definitely had to be wrong with the man.

Following the sound, he hurried to find the source. As he rounded a corner he saw a child probably about seven or eight at the end of a hall. The child was sitting up against a wall, hugging their knees, and crying into his or her lap.

Confusion flooded England's head at the sight of the child. What was this child doing here? Did France have a child? Why was this child here and France not? How long had this child been here?

Another heart wrenching sob broke through his thoughts and his paternal instincts washed over him, causing him to hurry over to the child. As he approached he noticed the child was only wearing a large dress shirt and was clearly shivering in the near frozen air; its skin had a slight blue tinge to it.

Instantly he pulled his heavy coat off and draped it over the child's small shoulders, ignoring the instant rush of chill himself. Kneeling next to the strange child, he quietly asked, "Where is your father?" in French. He chose to speak in the foreign tongue because if this truly was France's child he doubted he or she would know much English if any.

"I-I don't know," the child replied with a small whimper, still in French.

"How long has he been gone? How long have you been alone?" England was starting to get very concerned; a child this young shouldn't be left alone. He was also starting to notice that the child was male from the pitch of his voice. Even though he had yet to go through puberty, there was still enough difference for him to realize this child was not female.

"A-A while…"

"Why are you in the hallway?"

"I-I was sleeping in th-there…" He pointed at the closest door which England knew led to France's bedroom. "A-And I fell a-and hurt my l-leg…" Gently adjusting, he moved so that England could see the large black bruise on his shin which was surrounded by dried blood. "I-I wanted t-to get some f-food but it h-hurt too much t-to go any m-more…"

"When was the last time you ate?" England asked, worry continually increasing for the small boy who seemed abandoned.

"A-A couple days a-ago…"

"What is your name?"

"F-François_.._." the child said as he finally raised his head to look England in the eyes to reveal bright, innocent blue eyes he saw for the first time centuries ago.

And suddenly everything clicked. The reason France was missing, the sudden appearance of this mysterious child, why he was wearing a shirt that was clearly too big for him, this child, for whatever reason, _was_ France.

"Nice to meet you, François. I know your father and it seems like he's going to be gone for a while so I'm going to take care of you until he gets back, alright?"

Francis nodded.

"O-Oui, Monsieur…?"

"Arthur. You can call me Arthur. Now, first things first, we're going to get you bathed and on your way with me to my home." He helped Francis to his feet, careful of his injury, and into the bathroom attached to the bedroom. "I'm going to start the water then go to find you something to wear. Call me when the water gets to here, okay?" He indicated a spot on the side of the tub with his hand and Francis nodded again. "Stay here, wash your leg carefully, and I'll be back soon." Quickly turning on the taps to a warm temperature, he let the tub slowly begin to fill before handing the boy a washcloth and leaving him alone in the room. The only place he could think of to find clothes Francis would fit into at his current size would be in the attic so headed that way.

France's attic turned out to be much more cluttered than England's, most likely due to his longer history and somewhat eclectic nature; he always kept clothes he thought might come back into style someday along with many other strange things. Hidden behind a large, chained trunk that seemed strange to him, he found a promising looking box marked, 'Mathieu's clothes' next to a box labeled, '900's clothes'.

He grabbed both, curious as to which Francis would prefer and fit in better, and started to open them as a call from downstairs caught his attention. Carrying them back to the bedroom, he placed them on the desk for the boy to choose from in a moment. He stepped back into the bathroom and turned the taps off before taking the boy's leg and carefully inspecting the gash, deeming it clean.

"François," he started, straightening up again. "Come up with me so you can find something to wear after your bath." The boy nodded and followed him into the bedroom and looked through the clothes once England opened them for him. He picked out a forest green shirt, tan pants, and a pair of bloomers; England decided they needed to go shopping once they were settled back at his home. "Okay, you have towels and soaps in the bathroom already. Can you bathe yourself or do you need help?" Francis shook his head. "Alright. Take your clothes and I'll wait out here in case you need anything."

Gathering his choices, Francis walked back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

* * *

AN: So England seems to have found out why France has fallen off the radar but now the question is why is he a child? Hang around to find out.

For those who follow me closely, you might think it strange for me to be starting a new story when I already have six in progress. You might also be wondering why I haven't update those others stories in...months...but I can explain both of those things with one reason. My computer met an untimely demise and took my Word documents with it. I've been attempting to get the hard drive copied over to something where I can get to the documents and post new chapters. I would just write new chapters but I don't know what I already have written and some stories like 'Twisted Fates' is already written through chapter 10 or so. If it takes much longer to get anything off my hard drive I'm calling it lost and will just continue from where the story has left off on here.

This story is brand new and I am writing it all in a notebook dedicated to the story so that I can't lose it. It's very well outlined and seems like it will be rather long.


	2. Chapter 2

About half an hour later the door opened and a much cleaner Francis stepped out, dressed in the new clothes, still wearing Arthur's coat over them, and hair drying around his shoulders. His skin had lost the blue tinge and the boy no longer shook so much so Arthur was relieved.

"Do you feel better?" he asked softly.

"Yes."

"Good. Now come with me and we'll get you something to eat." He walked slowly so that Francis could limp next to him without hurting himself further. The kitchen was just as cold as the rest of the house but England was more than happy to shiver and lose feeling in his upper body if it meant that Francis could feel warm for the first time in however long it had been. Unfortunately, not only was the kitchen freezing, it was also bare; every cupboard was either empty or being used to store utensils and other cooking supplies. "Where were you getting food?" he asked the boy, confused.

"Over there." He pointed at the wall that divided the kitchen from the dining room.

Walking into the other room, he took a step back. The remains of a large feast that had probably been for a party the Frenchman had hosted before he turned into this child littered the table. There wasn't much left so he guessed that Francis had been picking from it which helped it along. Dishes were everywhere and a wine glass was lying on its side with a drop of red liquid still inside.

From the state of the remaining food, Arthur could guess that this party had been weeks ago. The Francis he knew, the adult one not this strange child, would never leave his home in such a state. He would have cleaned up all the food at least before going off to bed. If these dishes were still here, and somewhat laden with food, then whatever happened to Francis had taken place either during the party or shortly thereafter.

He was brought back to himself when he noticed Francis reaching for a plate.

"No!" The boy jumped and pulled his hand back at the outburst. "That food isn't safe to eat! It could make you very sick!" Francis put his head down in shame and Arthur instantly felt horrible. He knelt down to be eye level with him and softly said, "I'm sorry, Francis. I didn't mean to snap at you. I was just worried about your health." Gently putting his hands on the boy's shoulders, he softened his gaze. "I will get you something better to eat on our way, okay?"

"Where are we going?" Francis asked quietly.

"I'm going to bring you to my home so I can take care of you until your dad comes back but I live kind of far away so we'll have to pack anything you want to bring with you."

"Where do you live?"

"In England."

Francis tilted his head to the side, blue eyes full of confusion.

"England?" he said slowly, sounding out each letter.

The older blond nodded.

"Yes. It's a short trip from here." He looked at his watch. "But we need to leave soon or we won't make it tonight." Picking up the boy to save time and prevent him from walking on his injured leg, he noticed that he was much lighter than he appeared. 'Probably from the malnutrition,' he thought. 'That can be fixed though.'

When they reached the bedroom he found that since he was holding Francis he didn't have a free hand to open the door. If he had been a couple hundred years younger he would have managed just fine but it had been a long time since he had been watching a child. Too long, he decided. He liked kids and he wanted his own but he didn't have anyone to raise one with. He could probably do it alone just fine but he would prefer to have someone special that could parent with him.

_"Francis, could you open the door?"_ he asked in English, not noticing that he had switched. The boy just stared at him, confused. He thought he recognized his name but it sounded strange._ "This isn't funny, Francis. Open the door or I will have to put you down."_ Still the boy didn't move. _"I know you know how to open a door, Francis. You've done it before. I saw you."_ When Francis continued to simply stare at him blankly, he sighed in frustration and put him on the ground so he could open the door for both of them. _"There,"_ he stated, looking pointedly at Francis. _"How hard was that?"_

"What?"

_"The door, Francis, the-"_ He stopped when he realized what he was saying and what language he was saying in it. "I'm sorry, Francis," he whispered, once again speaking the boy's language. "I forgot."

"Forgot?"

"I forgot you don't speak my language."

'I forgot you refused to learn my language but forced me to learn yours,' he thought with a scowl.

_"It's the 21st century, idiot!" He had yelled at him once. "English is a universal language! Learn it already!"_

_What he didn't know is that the Frenchman had gone home and tried desperately to learn the language but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't do it. He couldn't say the words right, couldn't spell them, or even understand what they meant. It was like he had been cursed to never understand his ally's tongue. Even Mandarin he grasped with relative ease but English eluded him._

'That might be a problem,' he realized. 'I'm taking him to a country that almost exclusively speaks English and he knows none.' He shrugged it off. 'He'll learn.'

He led the boy into the room and instructed him to pick out any clothes he liked while he himself went to find one of the Frenchman's many suitcases.

Francis had a hard time picking out clothes; he wanted to take all of them but he had a feeling that wasn't going to be allowed.

He had finally decided on a few pairs of pants, some shirts, and a few colorful tunics when Arthur returned with a bag.

"All finished up?" he asked as he set the bag down. Francis nodded. "Good. I'll pack it for you and then we'll leave."

The boy watched him pull a phone out of his pocket and dialed the number for a local cab company to pick them up as he packed the few outfits into the small suitcase. When he was finished, he turned to Francis and asked if he was ready to go.

"Yes," he replied nervously, giving a quick last look around the room.

Seeing his unease, Arthur kindly held his hand out for the boy to take which he did instantly.

"Come on, Francis. The cab is waiting for us.

He gently led the boy out of the house and down the steps to the car waiting for them.

* * *

AN: The next chapter will be about Arthur taking Francis to London and getting him settled in so look forward to that!


	3. Chapter 3

The two sat quietly in the taxi as it drove them from a short way outside of Paris to Gare du Nord so they could catch the last train from the French capital to its English counterpart. It took them about half an hour which was spent in silence. When they arrived Arthur paid the driver and retrieved the suitcase with Francis' clothes in it and the briefcase he had brought with him, carrying both in one hand while holding Francis' small hand in his other. He quickly purchases two tickets on the Eurostar and hurried to catch the train.

Once they were seated and the suitcase safely stowed, Francis across from him with his back to their destination, Arthur pulled a map out of his briefcase and set it on the table between them.

"Look, Francis," he whispered, not wanting to disturb any of the other occupants. "We're here." He pointed to Paris on the map. "And we're going to take the train to here." He moved his hand to point at London."

The boy studied the map for a few minutes before asking, "What's the big blue stuff between them?"

"Water."

Francis' eyes widened and he looked at Arthur in surprise.

"How is the train going to cross the water?"

"We're going to go under it," he replied simply. "There's a tunnel."

"You can do that?" Francis cried, excitement radiating off him and jumping up in his seat.

"Yes. Modern technology is a marvel," Arthur answered, gently pushing Francis back down.

While Francis entertained himself with the map, the English nation took advantage of the remaining cell service and called his assistant. He asked her to arrange for a car to be waiting at the station in a few hours.

_"Did you figure out why France has been so distant lately?"_ she inquired.

_"Yes. Call a meeting with Cameron and Hollande. Do whatever you have to do to make sure they attend. This is extremely important."_

_"Is France alright? Does he need help?"_

Arthur watched the boy in the seat across from him who was fascinated with the passing scenery and babbling happily in French.

_"He…"_ He passed, unsure of what to say. Technically France was mostly fine, he was just a child for some reason. _"He needs help so I'm bringing him to London with me. We'll figure out what to do tomorrow."_

_"Alright."_

_"Keep this meeting confidential. No one outside of the four of us need to know it happened."_

_"I promise you I will make this happen."_

_"Thank you."_

He hung up and a few minutes afterward they entered the tunnel.

* * *

During the dark ride Francis kept himself occupied by asking questions about Europe and England and by playing with the map. His energy seemed endless and it drained Arthur of his own. When they finally made it to London Arthur picked up the two bags, took Francis' hand again, and led him out of the station to where his driver was waiting. The man took the bags from him and opened the door for them. Arthur and Francis slipped into the back while the driver put their bags in the boot before getting into his seat and starting the car.

With a sigh Arthur leaned back into his seat and closed his eyes while Francis stared out the window. A couple minutes later he felt something pressing against his shoulder. Looking over he saw the boy was leaning against him fast asleep. A small smile graced the British nation's face. The boy had finally tired himself out and was quietly snoozing next to him. He gently shifted the child so he could lay down and use his leg as a pillow.

They arrived at Arthur's home about twenty minutes later and Francis was still asleep. Rather than wake him, he carefully got out of the car and scooped him into his arms. The driver followed with the bags and opened the door for him, setting the bags just inside the home. With his hands free, the driver continued to follow him through the house, opening doors for him until they reached a small bedroom.

Arthur laid Francis on the bed and tucked him in, whispering his thanks to the other man. The driver took this as his cue to leave and did so. Arthur doing the same. Once the front door had been locked and the alarm activated, Arthur changed and went to bed.

* * *

The next morning Arthur woke up at 7:30, still rather tired after his late night the night before, and slipped out of bed. He walked down the hall before stopping in front of the door to the room Francis had slept in. Knocking quietly he called the boy's name only to hear a quiet whimper in return.

Curious, he opened the door to find an empty room. Taking a look around he found the room to mostly be in order besides an unmade bed and the door to the wardrobe ajar. He opened the doors to see Francis sitting on the ground with a frightened expression.

"Francis," he asked softly, kneeling down to be on his level. "Are you alright?" He kept his tone smoothly to keep himself from further startling the boy.

"W-Where am I?" Francis whispered, blue eyes large from his fear.

"You're in my home in England, remember? I found you yesterday and brought you here while your father is away?"

The boy nodded slowly, still uneasy.

"I-I thought it was a dream…I was alone for so long that I thought no one would ever come…"

Arthur felt his heart twinge at the obvious pain in the child's voice. No one should be alone and feel like they would always be that way.

"It was real. I'm sorry if I scared you. I'll be here for you. Are you going to be alright?"

"Y-Yes."

"Good. Would you come out of there and get dressed? We have to go somewhere today."

After Francis quietly agreed Arthur helped him out of the wardrobe and once he was sure Francis would be alright, left him to dress._ 'Stupid,'_ he thought on his way back to his room. _'Stupid. Of course Francis would be afraid. He woke up in an unfamiliar place all alone. I should have thought of that.'_ He continued to silently berate himself while he pulled on a gray pinstripe suit and a matching gray tie, brushed his teeth and hair, and leave the room.

Francis was waiting in the hall, still in the clothes from the day before.

"Why aren't you dressed?"

The boy looked at his feet.

"I don't know where my clothes are," he replied quietly.

Arthur mentally chided himself for forgetting that he had left Francis' suitcase by the front door.

"I'll get them for you. While you wait go into the bathroom and brush your teeth. There are spare toothbrushes under the sink along with toothpaste."

Francis obediently walked away to do what he was told while Arthur went to retrieve the suitcase. He was glad he had at least remembered that Francis didn't have a toothbrush and helped him get one before further confusing the boy.

When he reached the suitcase he opened it and looked for the nicest outfit he could find. If they were going to see the Prime Minister of England and the President of France they both needed to be dressed properly.

He pulled out a white dress shirt, a pair of black trousers, and a gray vest before closing the suitcase and carrying it and the clothes back upstairs for Francis to wear.

* * *

AN: The next chapter will consist of Arthur and Francis visiting their bosses to see what will happen to Francis. Will his boss know anything about what caused him to become a child?


	4. Chapter 4

The two of them arrived at the Prime Minister's Office around eight thirty after a breakfast of scones and tea, Arthur being too distracted to make anything else. He led Francis inside and through the maze of rooms and corridors to the private office where he would be meeting with the two diplomats. It took him a little longer than it usually did due to Francis limping from his still injured leg but when they finally arrived his assistant met him at the door and informed him that he was the last to arrive by only a few minutes.

"Well I shan't keep them any longer I suppose," he said with a sigh, thinking of everything he had to say. "While I am talking to them can you look after Francis and keep him entertained?" He gestured to the boy next to him with a look on his face that clearly indicated that he would take no questions on the matter.

"Of course."

"Good." He turned to the boy. "_Francis, come with me for just a moment and then I want you to stay with Ms. Archer until I return, alright?"_ The boy nodded and clutched his hand. Arthur took a deep breath and stepped into the room with Francis in tow. "Good morning gentlemen," he started. "I apologize for keeping you waiting. My morning did not go quite as smoothly as I am used to." The two men were barely listening to him and were instead staring at Francis who shrank back under the attention. "As you may have noticed I have a child with me but he'll be going now."

His assistant took that as her cue to collect Francis and did so. Once he was out of the room the politicians focused on Arthur.

"Mr. Kirkland!" his Prime Minister barked. "What were you thinking bringing a child here?!"

The French President had a different reaction, his face was curious and his words soft, "Who is he?"

"I will answer both of your questions," Arthur replied coolly. "But first, Monsieur Hollande, when was the last time you heard from France?"

The man laughed.

"A few days ago, of course!"

Raising an eyebrow, Arthur responded "Don't lie to me, Monsieur Hollande. It doesn't suit you." The French President started to interrupt, indignant, but Arthur continued before he could say anything. "I know you haven't heard from him for weeks. I know that you don't know where he is." He grinned smugly. "You told me so yourself."

"I did no such thing!"

"If you had talked to France recently you would have recognized him today."

The two men stared at him blankly.

"What on Earth are you talking about, Kirkland?!"

Slowly Arthur walked around the room to sit in a chair.

"I had a feeling that something was wrong with France so last night I went to see him." Two sets of eyes tracked his movements closely. "However, when I arrived at his estate I found it in a curious state. The front door was unlocked, the heat was off, dishes had been abandoned on the dining room table. It was all quite strange. I wandered through the house, looking for clues as to what had gone on. At the end of the hall on the second floor I found the same child that accompanied me here today. And though this child does not seem to remember anything past the last couple weeks I believe that he is the same France that is missing."

The two diplomats were frozen, trying to process what Arthur had just said.

"B-But-!" Hollande stuttered, trying desperately to share his thoughts. "B-But that could be any child! He could just be an orphan who snuck into a house he thought was unoccupied!"

"I understand your disbelief. I didn't believe it myself at first but I am positive that the boy I showed you earlier is France."

At this the men started asking dozens of questions in rapid succession; Arthur doing his best to answer them with the little information he had.

Finally Hollande asked, "So if he is France, what do we do? He needs someone to take care of him."

"I will," Arthur replied, somewhat surprising himself.

"You have other duties to take care of," Cameron pointed out.

"I can do both. I think that I need to take care of him. You don't understand our needs and he needs more protection than a human can offer. Monsieur Hollande, your nation is in a very delicate state right now. Its representative has been dwarfed to a small child. It is going to be a lot of weight on his shoulders. France is a large and powerful nation and it will be painful for him as he currently is."

Confusion in his eyes, Hollande asked, "Why is that?"

Arthur sighed and stood up, starting to pace.

"When nations come into existence, the parts that will one day make up the country we'll become are usually scattered or made up of tribes. As the parts start to come together and we grow as nations, our bodies adapt to the change by growing larger and stronger. We do not age like you do. And right now France is a thriving nation in the modern world. France's normal body is the way it is to keep up with that and he is only injured from certain events. The body he currently has is nowhere near strong enough for all the pressure of being a nation like his normal one is."

When the leaders continued to stare at him blankly he pinched the bridge of his nose and decided to dumb down what he was saying. "Imagine you have a rock perpetually on your shoulders. As you grow up, the rock gets bigger but not enough that you can't handle it. Then one day you somehow turn back into a child but you still have that rock. However, the rock stays the same size. What would happen? It might crush you so you have to have someone help you so that doesn't happen."

The men nodded as they finally understood.

"So what do we do?"

"Well first of all, Monsieur Hollande. I want you to find someone to take care of France's duties until he is back to normal." He turned to his own leader, "And Cameron, I need you to relieve me of a few of mine so I can try to figure out what caused this sudden change and attempt to turn him back."

The English diplomat nodded sternly.

"Fine. Some of your work will be given to someone else so that you may attempt to take care of France." Arthur opened his mouth to speak. "On one condition. If France becomes too much of a burden for you, you must return him to his people." He extended his hand.

"I agree," Arthur replied, taking his hand and shaking it.

"Then it is settled."

* * *

AN: So Arthur is going to take care of Francis and keep working. What will he do with him and will he be a good guardian?


	5. Chapter 5

After another half an hour of figuring out what duties Arthur would be allowed to give up and what would happen to Francis while he was at work. It was decided that Arthur would enroll Francis in school with would allow him to be educated and out of Arthur's hair so he could work. Also, if anyone was looking for the nation they were unlikely to look a primary school for him and if they raided Arthur's home it was less probable that the boy would be there.

In exchange Arthur argued that his schedule had to be changed so that he could take care of Francis or he would refuse to do any of his assignments. Cameron gave in at that and they worked out a new routine: Arthur would drop Francis off at school on his way to work until half an hour before school was let out and then he was allowed to be done for the day if he had finished all of his assignments. If he hadn't then he would finish them at home. On his way back he would pick up Francis from school.

He was also given the week off to better get to know Francis and find the best school for Francis. Not only that but it would take a few days to make fake documents for Francis such as a birth certificate and previous school records.

At the end of the meeting Arthur strolled out of the room with a grin, he was proud of his negotiation skills. His assistant met him at the door.

"How did it go?" she asked.

"Fine. A lot was taken care of." He looked around. "Where is Francis?" His assistant led him into one of the nearby, empty offices. Looking into the room he saw the boy sitting in the big chair behind the desk with a book in his lap, deeply engrossed in his reading. "What is he reading?"

"Philibert."

"Where did he get it?"

"Your meeting was taking a while so we went on a walk. He asked to stop at a bookstore so we did and he found that book so I bought it for him and he hasn't put it down since."

Without turning his head away from the boy he replied, "I will pay you back for that."

"You don't need to. I was glad to get it for him," she answered quietly. She did not have any children of her own or any nieces or nephews she could spoil so she was happy to watch Francis while her boss was busy.

"Does he understand it? Is he actually reading it or is he just looking at the pictures?"

"He can read. He seems very intelligent."

They continued to watch him until Francis looked up and smiled.

"_Are you done, Mr. Arthur?"_

Nodding, he said, "_Yes Francis. We can go now."_

The boy climbed down from the big chair and hurried over to him with the book in his hands.

"_Thank you for the book, Miss Archer."_

"_You're welcome, Francis."_

Arthur took the boy's hand and turned to his assistant. "Thank you for your help today. I will get in contact with you later tonight and let you know about what is changing and what your duties are going to be now, alright?" She nodded. "Good. I will see you later."

He and Francis left.

* * *

On the way home Arthur stopped to at a few stores to pick up some things that he needed for Francis such as a booster seat, school supplies, and some new clothes. When they got home he put the items he had purchased on the kitchen table except for the clothes which he kept with him as he led Francis through the house, giving him a tour. Each room was given a name, a short description, and either a "_Yes you may enter"_ or _"No, stay out of this room." _They paused outside a room on the second floor. _"This is my study, it's where I work when I'm at home. I do not want to be disturbed if I am in this room, okay?"_ Francis nodded politely. _"Good. Come this way." _Slowly they made their way back to the door to the room Francis was staying in. Arthur opened the door and stepped inside the room to hang up the old and new clothes in the wardrobe.

Francis stayed in the doorway, looking at the room properly since he was unable to that morning. The walls were a light gray and the ceiling sloped on one side starting above the only window on the far wall which had old gray curtains. Underneath it was a gray desk that faced out the window. Across from the desk was a twin bed with a dark gray metal frame and gray sheets against the wall. There was a small matching nightstand next to it with a gray lamp on it that was identical to the one on the desk. The only other piece of furniture in the room besides the small desk chair was the large wardrobe across from the door that Arthur was busy putting clothes into and Francis shivered.

Finishing his task, Arthur turned to see that Francis had yet to move from the doorway.

"_Come on, lad. You can put your book on the desk and come with me to make supper or you can read until I finish and come get you."_

"_I want to finish reading please."_

With a short nod, Arthur replied, _"Alright. I will be back when it is done."_

Then he left Francis in the small room.

* * *

When Arthur came back he found Francis sitting at the desk, staring out the window. His eyes were unfocused and clearly thinking deeply. _"Francis,"_ he called softly, not wanting to startle him out of whatever thoughts he was pondering.

Slowly the boy turned, gaze blurry, and blinked, coming out of his reverie.

"_Yes…?"_

"_Supper is ready."_

"_Okay…"_

He pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up, heading over to Arthur. Together they walked down to the dining room where the table was laid with a simple meal of bread, tea, and stew.

The Englishman helped the boy into one seat and took the one across from him. He began eating and was soon a good way through his meal but when he looked up he saw that Francis had yet to touch his food.

"_What is it?" _he asked, a bit angry that he had worked hard to cook dinner and the boy wouldn't even eat it. He had never known Francis at this age but surely he was not already so picky when he had so little choice?

"_We have not thanked God yet," _the child whispered back simply, staring at his lap where his hands were properly folded.

Biting his cheek he remembered that while _he_ was not exactly religious anymore, it was tough when he didn't know which faith to follow, Francis had been for as long as they had known each other.

"_Er, yes. You are right, Francis. I apologize." _He gently set his spoon down and clasped his hands, closing his eyes and trying to think of something to say. _"Dear God, thank you for this meal. Please protect us while we are vulnerable,"_ with that he snuck a glance at the boy across from him who, luckily, still had his eyes dutifully closed. _"And make sure no harm comes to us. Amen."_

"_Amen," _Francis' quiet voice repeated, opening his eyes and picking up his spoon.

After that the meal was spent in silence and when they were both finished Arthur sent the boy up to get ready for bed while he did the dishes. Once he was done, he went upstairs to the little room Francis was in. He knocked twice on the door before pushing it open.

Inside he found Francis was already changed and lying in bed.

"_Did you brush your teeth?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Very good. Good night."_

"_Good night."_

Turning off the light Arthur closed the door.

* * *

AN: Before anyone freaks out about the small religious content, don't forget that France is a strong Catholic and it's even mentioned in the show.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning Arthur awoke to his alarm at eight o'clock which caused him to groan and roll over. He had been up late the previous night writing a detailed email to his assistant about the upcoming changes. Not only that but he had been researching nearby schools that he could send Francis to while he worked. He had narrowed it down to a few options that included both public and private schools as well as bilingual and non-bilingual schools.

After a while he forced himself to get up and go make breakfast. On the way down he passed the living room where he saw Francis standing in front of a table. When he saw him he instantly turned and walked over to him silently instead because he could feel the sadness coming off the boy.

"Is that you?" the boy asked quietly without turning, pointing at an old picture. In it was a much younger Arthur holding two children who were both smiling brightly.

"Yes," Arthur answered, standing next to him. "Those are my boys. They are grown up now."

"You look very happy." The boy looked up at him with eyes that seemed to be able to read his soul. "You do not seem very happy anymore."

Avoiding Francis' deep gaze, he picked up the picture and looked at it longingly. "Things change. My boys grew up and left me. They have their own homes now. That's how the world works."

"Do they have children?"

"No." The two were quiet for a while before Arthur broke the silence by saying, "Why don't you go into the kitchen and wait for breakfast?"

The boy stared at him for a moment before nodding and leaving the room.

Arthur followed him after he put the picture back where it usually was but face-down.

Inside the kitchen Francis was patiently sitting at the table, playing with the hem of his nightshirt.

"That is much nicer than my Papa has. Is it expensive?"

The older blond paused and turned to him.

"What? No."

He was confused by the simple question. Since when did Francis care about price? The man would spend thousands of dollars on clothes without batting an eye but this child seemed honestly worried that Arthur had spoiled him.

"Oh good. I was about to give it back and ask you to sell it. I don't need fancy clothes."

Still thrown off, Arthur came and sat across from him.

"You don't?" he asked, still confused. "I can afford them."

The boy thought it over before shaking his head, eyes going distant.

"I should have been able to tell that you are rich. You have such a large manor. Mama made all our clothes. We could not go to the market very often…" He sighed sadly. "I miss Mama making my clothes. They were nicer than any of the clothes Nonno or Opa gave me…"

Suddenly the boy snapped back to himself and his vision focused. At the same time his stomach rumbled and Arthur knew that now was not the time to ask about what he had just learned.

"I'll make breakfast. You wait here."

He got up in a slight daze and started making them both some oatmeal.

* * *

Late that night Arthur lay awake in his bed, thinking deeply about what Francis had said. He hadn't been able to sit and think about it until now.

Most of the day had been spent in more silence. He had done more research on schools for Francis, eager to get that squared away, and had decided on one. He had even called and set up an appointment for the next day. Francis had simply sat in an armchair and read his book unless it was lunch or supper time.

But now Francis was fed, bathed, and in bed, hopefully asleep. Now he was free to think.

He had known Francis since they were children. But no, he had known him since _he_ was a child. Francis had already been in his early teens when they had met. Before now he had never stopped to think about the other's life before they had met. He had always assumed that he was as loud, self-confident, and outgoing as a child as he was as an adult. Probably raised by some kind mentor nation who spoiled him but this little boy was very quiet and somewhat shy. He was very similar to Matthew when he had been a child.

And he was shocked by what he had heard. Never before had the thought of Francis having parents entered his head. He didn't remember his own parents because they had died when he was very young but it seems like Francis' had been a big part of his life for much longer. They had all lived together and his mother had made them their clothes.

It was hard to imagine Francis as ever being poor or wearing shoddy clothes so he thought that his mother must have done it because she enjoyed it and was gifted with the talent. Otherwise why would he find her clothes better than the ones he had been given?

Another thing Francis had said tugged at him suddenly. _'Nonno. Opa. Grandfather.'_ Francis had two grandfathers. He had known both of his grandfathers. They had given him clothes but he had preferred the clothes made by his mother. And he had said that in such a heartbroken way. Had something happened around the time he got clothes from his Nonno or his Opa?

'_Opa_' made him pause again. Everyone knew that Francis and Feliciano were related, it was easy to tell, so it made sense that he had a nonno but an opa? 'Opa' was a German word. Does that mean that he's German? How? Was he related to Germania as well as Rome?

The short memory that had been shared on accident had put so many questions in his head that he had never considered or even cared about until today and now he felt like he needed to know everything, to answer all the question buzzing around his head.

* * *

AN: Next time Arthur will have his meeting with the school to decide if that will be the best choice for Francis.


	7. Chapter 7

"So you want me to watch Francis while you are out?"

"Yes. Hopefully I should only be gone for a few hours but if it is longer I will let you know. Make sure that no one gets anywhere near the house. It does not matter if they are human or nation, Francis is a secret and it is imperative no one knows of his existence."

"I understand."

They continued talking softly.

Unknown to them, Francis had woken up. The first thing he noticed was how quiet it was which surprised him slightly. Usually at this time of day he could hear Mr. Arthur puttering around in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for Francis and tea for himself, having already eaten. Curious, he slipped down the stairs and wandered around the ground floor until he peeked around a corner and found Mr. Arthur sitting with Miss Archer, whispering.

A flash of movement caught Arthur's eye and he looked up to see Francis' innocent eyes watching him with a questioning gaze.

"_Oh Francis_," he called in a gentle tone, waving the boy into the room. Francis padded over to the pair and stood by Arthur's side. "_I did not know you were awake. I am sorry but I have not made your breakfast yet. Miss Archer and I have been discussing some work and lost track of time._" Looking down at his watch, Arthur quickly finished what little was left in his tea cup and stood up. "_Unfortunately I have to go out for a bit today but Miss Archer is going to stay here with you. Do you understand?" _Francis nodded obediently. _"Good. I will be back as soon as I can."_

With that, Arthur turned and left.

* * *

"Thank you for meeting with me," he started as he sat down across from three people. "I only have a few days off of work to get this resolved."

"Of course," the man on the other side of the desk replied. He was a larger man with an easy smile on his face. His white hair thinned as it moved towards his forehead and was dressed in a simple gray suit. "My name is Mr. Pendleton, the woman to my left is Mrs. Croft." He indicated a middle aged woman who appeared to be well versed in educational matters. "And this is Mr. Cooper." To his right was a young man with caramel skin and dark hair. "We know how hard it is to make sure your child is placed in the right school-"

"I am sorry to interrupt but Francis is not my child." Three sets of bewildered eyes stared at him so he continued. "I am currently Francis' guardian but I am not his father."

"Oh," the woman whispered.

A few silent, uncomfortable minutes passed until the man behind the table with the white hair asked, "May we be made aware of why that is?"

Arthur took a deep breath and began reciting the story he and his bosses had created.

"Francis' father works for the French government in a top secret department. Because of his position, he was always worried that something might happen to him and he would not be able to care for his dear son. Since we had known each other since we were children, he asked if anything ever happened to him would I watch after Francis?" He paused for a moment before continuing. "To ease his troubled mind I agreed. I never thought that I would actually need to do so." He sighed sadly, looking down. "However, a few weeks ago he disappeared. Social services picked Francis up and held him until they discovered the paper I had signed claiming guardianship of him if his father ever went missing. They released him to me after proving the document's authenticity and I was given a week of leave in order to find and enroll him in a school in England. I work for our government, in a position that does not need to be named, and while I saw Francis' father occasionally when our work overlapped, I never met his son. The most I saw was an enthusiastic picture now and again."

As he spoke the three people across from him started sending each other strange looks.

"Mr. Kirkland," the older man began once Arthur had finished. "Do you have any paperwork to back this up? It is a little hard to believe your story."

"Yes, of course." Reaching into the bag on the floor next to him, he pulled out a manila folder that his assistant had brought him that morning. "Here you are." He handed the folder to the man. "This is everything that was released to me when Francis was."

The man removed the contents and flipped through them: a forged guardianship note, a fake birth certificate, and fictitious doctor's records.

"This is all well and good but what of his school records? He is seven years old, correct?"

"Yes," Arthur replied politely. "Francis is seven but before now he has been taught by private tutors. His father was very old-fashioned. I would have continued to have him educated by private tutors but I cannot afford to do so and I do not believe that way of learning is appropriate today or helpful for his social development."

The woman smiled at that.

"That's true. Being educated by a tutor alone makes it very hard for a child to learn social customs and behaviors. It would be slightly more feasible if there were other children in the house but from what I can gather this is not the case, is this true?" Arthur nodded. "Then your thoughts are just."

"In order to properly place Francis in the correct grade he will need to take a placement test since he has no previous school records," the man in the middle added.

"Is there a version of the test that is given in French?"

"No. It is only in English."

"Then it will be difficult for you to obtain an accurate recording since Francis does not know a word of English."

Dumbfounded silence greeted his words as the others in the room stared at him.

"H-He doesn't understand English?" the man in the middle asked, exasperated.

"No. His father does not know any English so Francis was not taught that language."

This information caused the woman to lean towards him, eyes challenging.

"If his father does not know English then how did the two of you communicate?"

"_I am fluent in French," _he replied, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at her, proving his statement to be true with five simple words. He was not afraid of this woman and had told no, harmful, lies.

Detecting the rising ferocity between the two, Mr. Pendleton decided to cut in.

"Mr. Kirkland, you are aware that this is not a bilingual school, yes?" The blond man nodded. "Then why are you attempting to place him in this particular school? There are several bilingual schools in London and they are all competent."

Arthur stared at him for several long minutes before finally answering, "I want him to learn English," with a simple tone.

"And you don't think bilingual schools do that?" the older man questioned, trying to understand the line of thought.

"I believe they do but I also want him to learn quickly so that he can navigate and survive in an English based country.

'_I want him to be safe,' _he added in his head. _'I want him to be able get help if someone tries to harm him. I want him to feel like there is no reason to be scared even as I try to hide him away from whoever caused him to change.'_

"If I am correct in my assumption," Mrs. Croft interjected. "Then you believe that placing Francis in an English only classroom will teach him this foreign language faster?"

"Yes."

"This is a common misconception, Mr. Kirkland. If you were to place Francis in the classroom that you think he belongs in then you will cause him a great deal of damage. Not only will his language skills be harmed but also his social and emotional development when he cannot communicate or bond with his classmates. And his academics will be negatively affected since he will not be able to understand his instructor or the work he is given. Due to this I honestly believe that the best option for Francis would be a bilingual school."

Arthur was not convinced.

"Francis is a very bright child. I truly believe that he will grasp the language quickly."

The younger man took this moment to finally join the conversation.

"Mr. Kirkland, it seems to me that you are worried that bilingual schools will not prepare Francis well enough with either his academics or his language development. Is this true?" Arthur said nothing. "I thought so. I myself went to a bilingual school when I was a child. Do I seem to be struggling with my second language?" The blond man shook his head. "Exactly. The school Mr. Pendleton has in mind for Francis will be a fine fit for him, Mr. Kirkland. Do not worry."

"Francis will be happy at this school. I promise you," Mrs. Croft added. "He will not have to fight to learn in a language he does not know and he will still be able to learn English. He may be a bit behind due to only being taught by tutors but his classmates will be able to help him catch up." She paused for a moment. "Have you heard of Vygotsky's Theory of Social Development?" Arthur shook his head again. "It states that children learn best by working together and exchanging ideas. This is something Francis would be striped of at this school but would be able to utilize at a bilingual school."

"Please understand that we are not trying to harm you or Francis. We only want what's best for him which, unfortunately, is not this school."

Taking a deep breath, Arthur made up his mind. "All right."

The older man smiled.

"I'm glad you understand. I will call the other school and have Francis enrolled. As soon as I am finished I will send you an email to confirm it's taken care of and so you can see the documents for yourself. Is that a deal?"

"Yes. Thank you."

The four stood up, shook hands, and meeting was over.

* * *

AN: I'm so sorry that I haven't written anything in almost six months. Things have been super crazy. I've had classes, observations, finding a new place to live, moving to this new place, and attempting to open a lawsuit against a previous roommate to name a few. It's been a little much so unfortunately writing got pushed to the side. I can't promise that I'll be able to update more regularly since I have several summer classes (I didn't fail, I'm trying to graduate sooner) but hopefully there won't be another six month gap.


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